"When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth." -Kurt Vonnegut

Friday, January 9, 2009

Uprooted

She was alone. This was not a state which was unusual, but one which was almost always equally discouraging. Whenever this occurrence happened she got the uncanny feeling that almost no one else on the planet was lonely. However, she was aware of the absurdity of this feeling. She was sitting in her room, in front of her computer. She was supposed to be studying German, but she wasn’t. The amount of German she knew and the number of books she read was simply incredible when the time spent staring was taken into account. She wanted to write something fictional and genius and she wanted it to be easy, but it was not easy, because her mind focused too solely on things that she didn’t want to write about. She wanted to be happy in a spiteful way. This was the kind of happy she desired when she had become complacent in her state of discontentment, but felt others would like her better if she were happy. She felt this way because long ago a boy told her that no boys would like her if she were unhappy. Now whenever she was sad her sadness increased exponentially because she became upset that no boys would like her through her minor depressions. But really, she wasn’t all that unhappy. Mostly she was longing. They had talked about longing in her German class. Sehnsucht was the word the professor wrote on the board. It was in reference to a poem about trees. She liked to write about trees a lot, but often found them to be too emotional and thus rarely liked anything she wrote about trees. In the German poem the pine tree was longing to be the palm tree, but the palm tree really wasn’t very happy either. Like the tree, she was rather apathetic towards movement, but was starting to become desperate enough to consider being uprooted.